


this is where our story starts

by orphan_account



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anonymity, Eventual Romance, M/M, only kinda
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2591687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ‘one of the artists in my university keeps drawing me whenever there’s a local competition or publication but I haven’t met him yet and also there’s this artist in the same neighborhood who has the bluest eyes ever and is really pretty and has helped me a few times’ AU that nobody asked for AKA FineArtsMajor!Haruka and EconomicsMajor!Sousuke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent souharus for the soul. I have no idea how all these work in Japan so I based the au off of my own experiences. Unbeta'd so please tell me if you see typos/grammatical murder? :) I own nothing... just the plot.

* * *

 

It feels weird.

  
It feels weird, but at the same time, kind of flattering to see your figure on a canvas, rendered by means of watercolor and ink. Sousuke stares at the framed piece, and takes in the blue hoodie, the slouched posture, the way the figure is leaning to the left against the lamp post. The cool colors of the figure make for a wonderful contrast against the pinks and oranges of the sunrise behind him.

  
Sousuke doesn’t know much about art, but he can at least recognize a beautifully done piece, even if the artist referenced him without him knowing. He scrutinizes the face of the character on the painting, knowing that if he’d look in the mirror, he’d probably see the same thing.

  
Rin hadn’t been joking when he sent the text this morning about something that might catch his interest in the art gallery’s interuniversity showcase. Glancing down, Sousuke reads the name of the painter and commits it to memory.

_  
Nanase Haruka, Tokyo University_ , the plaque says. Underneath it is the supposed title of the work of art, and it reads _Good Morning_. Sousuke snorts, expecting something more extravagant than that.

  
He spends another few minutes looking at the painting before deciding to take a picture of it. He fishes his phone from his back pocket and opens the camera application, but just as he raises it to eye-level, someone comes up to speak to him.

  
“You know that’s not allowed right?” a calm voice sounds from behind, “People aren’t allowed to take pictures until after the awarding ceremony later today.”

  
Sousuke bristles and looks over his shoulder, and is promptly met with extremely clear blue eyes that would put deep ocean water to shame. He’s considerably shorter and slimmer, but the air around him is defiant.

  
 The newcomer moves to stand beside him and Sousuke presses his lips together in a thin line as he puts his mobile back in his jeans. “I didn’t know that,” he bites out.

  
“If you liked the painting that much, you should leave a comment and a vote at the exit,” the stranger replies, shooting Sousuke a knowing look. A neutral expression is set on his face, but Sousuke can almost feel a smirk coming on.

  
“Huh,” is all Sousuke says, before he turns around and leaves the guy, walking briskly towards the exit. He looks back over his shoulder once and is oddly pleased to see that the stranger hasn’t moved at all and is still looking at the painting. Maybe he likes the piece too?

  
Or maybe… he’s put two and two together and just only realized that the man he was talking to bore an extremely striking resemblance to the one in the painting. Sousuke sighs. Immediately, his mind’s brought back to his main concern. To be honest, he’s not sure if he should look for the artist and have a word with him about painting.

  
In the end, he decides not to look for him, because he’s pretty sure this is a one-time thing. What if the artist just happened to be near him at the time and drew inspiration from him because the light hit him pretty good? Sousuke stops in his tracks and has to stifle another snort. _Because the light hit me pretty good? What am I even thinking?_

  
When he reaches the exit, he stalls at the booth where both the guest book and ballot box are stationed. A quick glance over his shoulder shows him that the stranger from before has moved on to other parts of the exhibit, and a sense of relief washes over him.

  
He leaves a vote for Nanase Haruka and on the comments section, writes ‘It won’t hurt to ask permission next time you want to draw me. Good work anyway.’ After some thought, he adds his first name, and then leaves the art gallery feeling rather satisfied.

  
He fails to notice an azure gaze trained on him as he walks away.

 

* * *

 

Sousuke meets Rin for lunch just as the latter’s done with class. When asked about how his visit to the gallery went, he shrugs and tells his best friend that nothing much happened. “The painting was nice,” he says, “It didn’t bother me as much as I thought it should’ve.”

  
“The artist captured you really well, you know? It’s almost romantic!” Rin responds, grinning coyly at him.

  
“You’re despicable, Rin. Let’s just get some food. I’m starving.”

  
They eat at a ramen shack close to the redhead’s university, and then spend the rest of the afternoon in Sousuke’s apartment to study. Sousuke has an oral presentation to prepare for, while Rin has two essays that are due the next day. They don’t talk about the painting at all, each of them engrossed in their schoolwork.

  
They’re done by the time the sun starts to set. As Rin gathers his stuff and shoves them unceremoniously in his backpack, he says, “By the way, did you find out who the artist was? It might be nice to actually get to know him, wouldn’t it?”

  
Sousuke raises an eyebrow. “Don’t romanticize the situation, Rin.”

  
Huffing, the redhead makes a face at him before walking out the front door with a two-finger salute. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll see you on the weekend, you big lug. Break a leg tomorrow.”

  
Sousuke waves in return, his thoughts returning to the painting at the gallery, then to the blue-eyed stranger. He reckons the showcase’s awarding ceremony has already finished, and wonders who won the competition. Before he can stop himself, he tidies up his room and grabs a jacket, toes on his red sneakers and makes his way out of his apartment.

  
Rin is nowhere to be found when he gets out of the building, and he concludes that maybe his best friend took a cab back home. Sousuke then walks briskly towards the art gallery, a convenient four blocks away from his place.

  
He reaches the gallery and frowns when he sees the crowd inside through the glass walls. Almost everyone is garbed in formal wear, and those who aren’t are the ones taking pictures and interviewing other people. Probably the media, he thinks.

  
Sousuke realizes he is way too underdressed to enter the showcase venue, so he settles for walking towards the entrance in hopes that the results were at least posted on the front doors. To his chagrin, there’s nothing on the glass doors save for the list of names of the participants from the exhibit.

  
“Why did I even bother going?” he mutters to himself, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to kill the irritation bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

  
“You can go in and take pictures now, if you like.”

  
A familiar figure settles beside him, and Sousuke blinks once, twice, before it registers who exactly that person is. “You…” he says, but every other word doesn’t slip past his tongue when he realizes that Clear Blue Eyes from earlier today is clad in a form-fitting tuxedo.

  
“You’re one of the artists here?” Sousuke asks instead, internally thanking the gods for a speedy recovery. He wasn’t prepared for someone to look that good in a simple suit.

  
“Yes,” the stranger says simply, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.”

  
Sousuke watches as he opens the glass door and steps inside. Before closing the door, he gives Sousuke a small smile and says, “The painting you liked won third place, by the way.” Then he straightens his bow tie and stalks off to the crowds, easily getting engulfed by the amount of people in the hall. In a matter of seconds, his raven-haired head is indiscernible from the others.

  
Sousuke releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and finds that the corners of his mouth have lifted slightly. He can’t help but feel as if he hit two birds with one stone today.  
  


* * *

 

Two weeks after the exhibit at the art gallery, Sousuke comes across the name Nanase Haruka once more. This time he’s in his university’s quad, and some student from the journalism club is handing out the monthly tribune. He takes one just so the student would leave him alone, and since it looks like it’s going to be a while before Kisumi’s going to meet him, he starts reading.

  
Halfway through, he recognizes the familiar name on the top right corner of a page. The artist has apparently drawn for this month’s editorial, something about the increase of enrollees in the Business Administration and Economics department.

  
And of course, _of course_ , the drawing has Sousuke in it.

  
It’s a sketch of what looks to be the Economics building lecture hallway, where most of the students loiter when waiting for class to start. Even though there are quite a number of students in the drawing, the focal point is still himself, made noticeable by the bolder lines and more intricate shading.

  
Sousuke purses his lips as he stares at the picture. Among all of the students, he’s the only one with his notes in his hand, standing close to a classroom door and with a pensive look on his face. All the rest are either talking or doing nothing.

  
The caption underneath reads _Model student_.

  
As expected, it still feels weird and flattering at the same time.

  
Sousuke doesn’t realize the tips of his ears are red until after Kisumi comes and asks him about it. He shoves the newspaper in his bag so his friend won’t see, and thankfully, Kisumi is more concerned about getting to play street ball with his friends than Sousuke’s source of embarrassment.

  
At this, Sousuke is just grateful for something to distract him from his thoughts. They get to the street courts in less than ten minutes, and instantly immerse themselves in the game. Sousuke plays harder than he’s ever done before, going as far as to outscoring Kisumi in the first five games. Unfortunately, the name Nanase Haruka is still occupying his mind even after they’re finished playing.

  
Taking a seat beside his pink-haired friend on the park bench, Sousuke starts, “Hey, got a minute?”

  
Kisumi gives him a wide smile. “Something on your mind, Sousuke? You played really well today, but you were kinda out of it.” He takes a sip from his water bottle before beckoning the latter closer.

  
“Does the name Nanase Haruka ring a bell to you?”

  
Sousuke waits, a tiny bit of regret seeping into his mind as he watches the gears turn in his friend’s head. Kisumi hums as he scrunches his nose, fingers coming up to scratch at his chin. “Ahhh, where have I heard that name before?”

  
“You know what? Don’t worry about it. You might break your head or someth-”

  
“No, wait, I have a friend who’s best buddies with the guy, I think. Fine Arts major Nanase Haruka, right?” the pink-haired teen cuts in.

  
“I don’t really know who the guy is. That’s why I’m asking,” Sousuke admits. He exhales deeply and gets up before Kisumi starts asking questions. “Thanks for today. I had fun.”

  
“Mhm, I’ll see you tomorrow in Accounting, yeah?” is the chipper reply.

  
Sousuke nods blithely as he leaves the courts.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know why, but when Sousuke gets home, the first thing he does is take the tribune out from his bag and grab a pair of scissors from his desk drawer. He turns to the page where Nanase’s drawing is and begins to cut it out neatly.

  
He pauses for a while and questions himself about this decision, but gets on with it anyway. When he’s done, he grabs a clear file from his shelf and shoves the clipping there. Only heaven knows why he’s doing this, really.

  
Afterwards, he jumps onto his bed and muffles a groan in his pillow. Who is Nanase Haruka and why does he keep drawing him? Does this guy have a crush on him? Does he think of Sousuke as his personal muse? All these questions and more are probably going to keep Sousuke awake for the rest of the night.

  
He reaches out for the newspaper on his desk and props his pillows up on his headboard. He might as well finish reading the tribune if he wants something else on his mind.

  
The editorial article actually makes a lot of sense when he thinks about it. There has been an influx of students in the department ever since the start of this year. Sousuke skims through the rest of the articles on the page, most of them stories about campus-related things.

  
One of them pertains to the art exhibit that occurred fourteen days before, and sure enough, Nanase Haruka’s name makes another appearance. Sousuke is a bit miffed that the journalism members didn’t take pictures, but then again, the exhibit wasn’t that much of a major event.

  
The article proves to be helpful though, as it’s then he learns that Nanase is a second year just like him, a Fine Arts major as Kisumi mentioned, and is considered to be one of the top students in his department. He’s also consistent in placing in the art competitions, both local and international.

  
Sousuke wonders why someone as talented as Nanase would want to draw him.

  
He scans the next page and then the next, and is pleasantly surprised to find his best friend in the sports section as one of the contenders that Japan has to look out for in the swimming world, even rivaling that of Toudai’s swimmers. He cuts out the article just in case Rin’s ego needed feeding, and stashes it in the same clear file that has Nanase’s drawing in it.

  
The last two pages of the tribune are dedicated to the journalism club and the list of people who have contributed in the issue. It’s kind of like a phonebook, since the names are written with the person’s contact information as well.

  
Sousuke’s eyes zero in on the name he can’t seem to get tired of today.

_  
Nanase Haruka / nnsharu630@gmail.com / 03-5556-0831 / College of Arts & Sciences, TouDai_

  
He doesn’t even think twice when he inputs the contact information in his mobile, also when he opens his texting application and sends ‘Is this Nanase Haruka?’ to the number.

  
His phone vibrates five minutes later, and the reply has Sousuke pinching the bridge of his nose as he moves to bury himself under the covers, contemplating why he has to over complicate things in his life.

  
‘Yes. Who is this??’

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbeta'd so please tell me if you see errors here and there! That and feedback would be highly appreciated! :) Once again, I don't own anything! Just the plot!

“What do you mean it happened again?”  
  


“There’s a bit of static before Rin’s voice crackles from the phone. “I’m telling you to go check out the art gallery again. You’re in for another surprise.”  
  


Sousuke doesn’t know why he still feels startled about it. Glancing towards his shelf, he sets his sight on a clear file that has at least three more clippings of Nanase’s art in it (one from this week’s tribune, and the other two from the art department’s perennial magazine that came out two days ago). “Is it another painting?” he asks, “Last I checked there were no competitions this week.”  
  


“Keeping track of the art events now, huh? You’re more interested than what you let on!” Rin teases. He laughs when Sousuke hisses at him to shut up, and continues to speak before the moment passes. “This time’s special. The curator handpicked five students from Tokyo to display their daily sketches… you know, none of that super deep artsy stuff, just mundane everyday things. Your artist’s one of them. I suggest you go and have a looksee! They’re even more romantic than the first one!”  
  


Sousuke slaps a hand over his face. “You’re more excited about this than I am, Rin. How do you even know about this stuff?”  
  


“Didn’t I tell you? My roommate is a pretty good artist himself and he invites me to pretty much every showcase he’s been on,” the redhead says. “Anyway, just go visit! It won’t take up much time, really!”  
  


“Yeah, whatever,” the brunet replies before hanging up. He stretches his limbs as he gets off of his bed, wincing when he hears his joints pop. It’s too early in the morning to deal with this again, he thinks. However, he isn’t going to deny that he’s curious as to what Nanase’s done now. Since he only has class in the afternoon, he decides a quick visit would be okay.  
  


Sousuke heads for the bathroom for a quick shower, and then he changes into a comfortable v-neck and some designer skinny jeans (courtesy of his best friend). Aside from the fact that he wants to know how he’s been drawn this time, it’s also an opportunity to maybe meet the pretty blue-eyed artist who’s been haunting his thoughts for a while.  
  


He hasn’t seen him since the initial exhibit some three weeks before. Sousuke knows better than to get his hopes up because Tokyo is a large place with a lot of people, and an equally large number of talented artists. Still, there’s no harm in going an extra mile to look even a tiny bit better today.  
  


Just in case.  
  


Sousuke grunts and buries his face in his hands. Rin’s rubbing off on him in all the wrong ways.  
  


He checks himself one more time on the mirror before going out.  
  


* * *

 

When he arrives at the gallery, Sousuke can’t help the flush that adorns his face when he sees the exhibit. To be completely honest, when Rin told him this exhibit was special, he expected the art to be nothing short of amazing. He actually appreciates Nanase’s work, and this is pretty much the reason why he’s never told the artist to stop, why he’s never texted him back after entering his number in his mobile almost a week ago.  
  


Nanase’s art style, no matter what medium he uses, never fails to keep finding new ways to blow him away. There’s just something about the way he does art that seems to work well for him.  
  


And as far as sketches come and go, Nanase is the bomb.  
  


“This guy’s different from the other four. Notice how he doesn’t smudge at all. He uses crosshatching, with varying pencil pressures to create the shadows and highlights. It makes for a crisp finish.”  
  


“His works are refreshing to the eye. I was unaware that Nanase-san had a penchant for human anatomy though. Still, he does an exquisite job!”  
  


“God, I can’t believe these are just everyday doodles for him.”  
  


Sousuke bites the inside of his cheek as he hears the two college students beside him talk about the works in front of them. The words enter through one ear and exit immediately through the other though, as he is focused on the sketches.  
  


Special doesn’t even begin to cover it.  
  


If Sousuke could describe it with one word, it would probably be _erotic_.  
  


The first few drawings are arms and hands, extended every which way, but there is a sort of delicacy in the way they are drawn, as if they were posed for a loving touch. The succeeding sketches encompass the male torso and the legs, again contorted in rather provocative figures. The last two ones are what grab his attention the most.  
  


Effectively placed above the other sketches, the first one is of a broad male back. The figure has its arms extended over his head as if stretching, and Nanase has nailed the contour and formation of flexed muscle. Beneath it, the caption reads _Makoto_.  
  


Beside it is a sketch of a bust in three fourths sideway view, the focal point being the junction where neck meets shoulder. The head of the figure tilted to the left so the jawline is seen clearly and the clavicle is more exposed. Sousuke brings up his hand to palm at his collarbone and resists the urge to run his other hand over the drawing because it looks so alive and similar to his.  
  


When he looks downward, the title he sees for the sketch is his own name.  
  


His breath hitches then, and he doesn’t know how long he stands there, staring at the sketches. When he snaps out of it, the two college students are gone, and there’s a new curious spectator beside him.  
  


“What’s your favorite?” the person asks, his voice calm and steady.  
  


The air around them shifts, and Sousuke doesn’t even have to turn to know that those clear blue eyes are watching him. “Sousuke,” he says curtly, feeling the heat spread from his cheeks to his neck. “That is… It looks good. Too good, even,” he adds as an afterthought.  
  


“It’s my favorite too, actually.”  
  


At that, Sousuke finally turns to face his viewing companion, keeping eye contact with the other as he raises his brow. “Why is that?” he asks, and he can almost see the sheer amusement on the other’s expression.  
  


The blue-eyed teen licks his lips for a second, then promptly faces the sketch. He lets his fingers run through the smooth pencil lines on the paper, tracing the profile down to the jawline, the column of the throat, before finally resting on the smooth curve of the shoulder.  
  


“It almost feels real,” he says, blue eyes glinting with something Sousuke can’t decipher.  
  


It makes his heart beat faster.  
  


Sousuke hums in affirmation, basking in the tension of the atmosphere. “It’s nice to see you again by the way,” he blurts out, “It’s been a long while, hasn’t it?”  
  


He feels something burst inside of him when the other gives him a small smile. _That’s it, this is how it ends_ , _I’m going to fucking combust_ , is what’s running through his mind as he tries to reciprocate with a soft grin of his own.  
  


“Mhm, I wish I could say the same thing.”  
  


_Wait, what?_  
  


A phone rings and the shorter teen is quick to answer it, and Sousuke can’t even be bothered to listen in on the conversation. He stares as the other speaks into the phone nonchalantly, then hangs up and gives the sketches a thoughtful look.  
  


“It seems I have stuff to do, so I’ll be taking my leave now. See you around.”  
  


For the second time that morning, Sousuke finds himself in a daze, staring at the spot where Mr. Clear Blue Eyes was standing. He doesn’t dare move when the other walks away, his train of thought crashing and burning as he tries to process what’s been said to him.  
  


 _I wish I could say the same thing?_ _What does that even mean?_ He muses. Sousuke feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him _,_ and he dashes to the nearest vending machine to parch his sudden thirst, drinking the can of cola in one go.  
  


“I didn’t even get his name,” he berates himself quietly as he goes home with an unreasonable amount of butterflies in his stomach, and the peculiar desire to thank Nanase.  
  


* * *

 

Sousuke's Taxation class was pretty much uneventful, the entire two hours spent playing tic-tac-toe with Kisumi. Since the professor already posted the notes online at the beginning of the semester, taking down notes was a definite chore. Sousuke exits the classroom with his pink-haired friend in tow, heading towards the quad to cool down and meet up with a few group mates for the Literature project.  
  


As they’re making their way down the staircase, Kisumi drapes an arm over Sousuke’s shoulder, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. “I heard from Rin that Nanase put up something new in the gallery today.”  
  


Sousuke scowls at him. “Same old, same old. So what if he did? It’s just art,” he deadpans, but the blood that rushes to his cheeks betray him, and in no time at all, Kisumi’s chortling at him.  
  


“Sousuke, you don’t know how adorable you look right now,” Kisumi says as he pats the other’s cheek.  
  


The dark-haired teen slaps the offending hand from his personal space. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”  
  


“Mm, it takes one to know one, right?” Kisumi replies, laughing even harder when Sousuke fails to come up with a witty comeback and ends up flipping him off instead. “Rin also tells me you have his number! Have you texted him yet?”  
  


“Rin needs to keep that big mouth of his shut,” Sousuke hisses. Then he runs his hand through his hair and mutters, “I… haven’t exactly texted Nanase yet though.”  
  


He figures the first one didn’t count because it was just him confirming the contact detail. That first night, Sousuke admits to wanting to know why Nanase always draws him when there are so much more interesting subjects out there just waiting to be drawn. It doesn’t make sense at all.  
  


Just from the art department’s magazine alone, Sousuke could see that the other artists deviate from doing similar art pieces, and most of them tend to favor landscape or inanimate objects. He could count two students aside from Nanase who liked to draw people, but those two never drew the same person twice, at least in their submissions to the magazine.  
  


Out of Nanase’s three paintings that were featured on the magazine, two were of him. Granted, different mediums and materials were used on each, but still, two of those had Sousuke in them. Sousuke often wondered if people noticed it too, especially Nanase’s professors or classmates.  
  


A flick to his nose pulls him out of his reverie, and he growls at Kisumi who’s sticking his tongue out at him. “I'm going to ki-”  
  


“Text him today,” Kisumi cuts in, grinning like a Cheshire cat, “Live a little, Sousuke. You’ll never get the answers to your questions if you don’t ask! Nanase might even feel better knowing that you like his works of you.”  
  


Sousuke knows better than to reply to that, so he stays quiet as they finally reach the quadrangle. He can feel Kisumi smirking shrewdly behind his back, but he steels himself and focuses on the task at hand when his classmates start arriving to talk about the project.  
  


He finds that he’s made up his mind the moment Kisumi told him to send a message anyway.  
  


* * *

 

He waits until the evening before texting Nanase. He figures the other should be done by class then, and won’t be bothered too much by the questions that Sousuke has for him. The teal-eyed teen sucks in a breath as he thinks about how to word his queries.  
  


Kisumi lets out a snore from where he’s snoozing on Sousuke’s bed, and Sousuke silently thanks the gods for the blessing of silence. _Better to text now while the devil is asleep_ , he thinks. He then shakes his head and texts the first thing that comes into mind upon reading their earlier conversation in his phone.  
  


‘It’s Yamazaki Sousuke.’  
  


The brunet pockets his phone quickly after that, heading for the kitchen but not before draping a blanket over his sleeping friend. Nanase will probably reply in a good ten to fifteen minutes or so, and what better way to spend the time waiting than to cook dinner?  
  


Sousuke ends up making curry for a good two hours.  
  


When he shucks off his apron, a disgustingly neon pink thing that was a housewarming gift from Rin two years ago, he checks his phone and sees two replies to his message, the first one a mere two minutes after he sent his message, and the second one barely ten minutes ago.  
  


It seems that Nanase replies rather fast after all.  
  


The first reply reads ‘Oh, okay.’ and the second one reads ‘Did you want me to stop?’  
  


Sousuke trots over to his couch and takes a seat, all the while thinking about how to reply.  
  


Did he want Nanase to stop? _Of course not_ , Sousuke ponders. He likes how Nanase can translate him into a work of art, something that can be adored by many. There’s no reason to rain on his parade and stop him from doing what he does best.  
  


Sousuke texts back with a ‘Why me?’, since that’s what he wants to get to the bottom of the most.  
  


This time, he waits for the reply, willing himself not to get up and start fixing up something as unnecessary as dessert. He’s rewarded with a message in less than minute, astonished because how can Nanase text that fast?  
  


Before opening the text, he exhales loudly, preparing himself for something deep or profound. He doesn’t expect the frank words glaring at him from the screen.  
  


‘You catch the light well when I look at you.’  
  


Sousuke feels something wilt in his chest before he bursts out laughing, remembering his thoughts the first time he laid eyes on Nanase’s art of him. He types out and sends, ‘Are you serious?’ and gets ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ back, and Sousuke _loses_ it. He tosses the phone on the throw pillows and tries to stifle the laughter spilling from his lips.  
  


When he wipes at the wetness on the corners of his eyes, his phone starts to ring and the chuckling stops immediately when he sees Nanase’s name flash on the caller ID. “Shit,” Sousuke mumbles as he scrambles off the couch and into the bathroom. He accepts the call once he locks the door and holds the phone to his ear, refusing to speak first.  
  


“Yamazaki, you there?” a cool voice sounds over the line, and Sousuke manages to mutter incoherently at the receiver in affirmation.  
  


“I was lying,” Nanase continues, “I don’t just draw you because you catch the light well.”  
  


“That would have been pretty shallow, Nanase,” Sousuke breathes out. He walks over to the bathtub and sits on the edge.  
  


“You’re perfect. For me, I mean.”  
  


“ _Excuse me?_ ”  
  


“I won’t say it again. When I look at you, I feel like everything’s amplified and I have to draw you. You inspire me, have been inspiring me for a while now,” the artist says monotonously. Sousuke doesn’t want to believe but he bets that Nanase’s saying all these with a blank face.  
  


“That sounded like a confession,” Sousuke says jokingly. He starts counting one to ten backwards in his mind, his hand ruffling his hair as he goes over Nanase’s words over and over again. "Was it?"  
  


A chuckle comes from the speaker, and Nanase speaks again, softly this time. “Interpret it the way you want to, Yamazaki.”  
  


Sousuke stares heatedly at the tiles in front of him. “Don’t fucking give me that,” he retorts, “What exactly do you mean, Nanase?”  
  


“It means that I like drawing you, Yamazaki. I like your face, I like your body, I like the vibe you exude when I see you, I like how you’re always perfect no matter the setting.”  
  


Nanase stops there, sighing as he lets out another snort. “Too much?”  
  


“Definitely too much,” Sousuke says. He pounds a fist against his chest to calm his heart, and tells himself not to make a big deal out of this. This is just Nanase Haruka, the person who’s been drawing him for weeks now. He’s never even met the guy yet, and already his pulse is all aflutter after talking to him.  
  


 This is Nanase’s fault, of course. No one should have the gall to just barrage a person with those kinds of words without expecting them to take it in _that_ kind of way.  
  


“Are you still alive?” Nanase voices out, and Sousuke can at least hear the slight hint of worry creeping into his tone.  
  


“Nanase-”  
  


“Do you want me to stop after all?”  
  


Sousuke almost scoffs. “What? No, don’t be stupid! You don’t have to stop. You don’t- Look, I’m okay with you drawing me, alright? I _enjoy_ seeing your works, seeing other people like them, because you’re a damn good artist. I just… I don’t really get why you draw me that much, even after hearing your supposed reasons, because let’s face it, Nanase, I’m a stranger. We’ve never even met before. I’ve never even spoken a word to you before this phone call.”  
  


 The dark-haired teen leans forward, his ears burning hot as he waits for Nanase to speak again.  
  


Another sigh, and then, “Mhm, I wish I could say the same thing.”  
  


Sousuke narrows his eyes at the familiar response. “What are you-” and then suddenly, it all _clicks_.  
  


A knowing smile, a defiant air, and the clearest, bluest eyes he’s ever seen. The image flickers at the back of his mind as he finally has a name to label it with.  
  


_Nanase Haruka. He’s Nanase Haruka._  
  


“You _fucker_ ,” Sousuke bites out, “You knew all along!”  
  


He can practically see Nanase’s smirk forming on his lips as the other replies, “Well, it was fun while it lasted. Took you long enough, Yamazaki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next update! (Ideally, within the week!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd as always. Also I don't own anything. :) I'm also terribly sorry for being extremely late OTL The first half of this chapter revolves around a few friends, and their introduction's importance probably won't be relevant until the next chapter, so I hope that's okay. Anyway, moving on...

Sunday nights are usually the quietest and most comforting. Sousuke would spend them soaking in the tub for a good few hours, listening to music or reading an e-book. He’d come out the bathroom looking like a cooked lobster but feeling like a new person. Afterwards, he’d lounge on his bed, read some more and check his mobile game.

  
He’d always thought that a good night’s sleep before the start of a school week was the best remedy for Monday blues.

  
However, this Sunday in particular is proving to be quite the exception.

  
Sousuke eyes his phone warily, browsing through some text messages concerning Nanase. They’ve had numerous conversations added to their history, most of them about the artist’s current work. Sometimes, they’re interspersed with random shots fired at each other, or just really mundane things about themselves like Nanase’s weird obsession about mackerel, and Sousuke’s shoe collection.

  
The latest message has the artist sending a text about a new project. Nanase’s next school activity is portrait painting, and this time, he makes sure to ask Sousuke’s permission. The teal-eyed teen has yet to reply, scrolling up and down the log as he mulls it over.

  
Normally this wouldn’t be a problem. He has already admitted that making him the object of Nanase’s works is no trouble at all. No, the main issue now is that the artist actually asked to meet in his apartment.

  
‘Portraits don’t necessarily require extreme attention detail, but I want to do your face justice,’ the text starts, followed by a query for Sousuke’s free times and an address.

  
Sousuke sighs deeply, throwing his phone casually onto his bed where it bounces off a pillow and lands on the floor with a crack. He winces at the sound but doesn’t bother picking it up, instead opting to pad towards the bathroom where his bath water has been waiting for him.

  
In the tub, he gets to really thinking. He knows the reason he can’t say yes that easily is because he’s highly conscious of himself. Nanase’s previous pieces were okay, because he didn’t know he was being watched. Sousuke is okay with attention directed at him, but something prolonged and would leave him with Nanase for hours on end is another thing. He’s also never done well with socializing, but then again Nanase seems like a person who understands the value of silence anyway.

  
Agitated, Sousuke submerges himself in the warm water, only coming up for air when he feels his lungs protest. Through the glass panes of the door, he hears his ringtone sounding, and he scoffs and ducks under the water again.

  
The ringing stops after a few attempts, and Sousuke feels relieved and guilty at the same time. When he gets out of the bath five minutes later, he grabs his phone from the floor and is surprised to see that the missed calls were from Kisumi, and not from Nanase at all.

  
There are several messages from his friend as well, and all of them are just variants of his name and a shitton of exclamation marks. Sousuke is quick to press the call button and raise the phone to his ear, preparing himself for the worst.

  
Kisumi doesn’t usually call this may times, and for him to do so must mean an emergency of some sort. It doesn’t even ring twice before Kisumi picks up, whining into the receiver.

  
“Sousuke, I was starting to think you’d abandoned me!” he exclaims, “It’s important!”

  
“Sorry, I was in the bath. Anyway, are you okay?” Sousuke walks over to his closet where he takes out some clothes, keeping the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, “Should I come over?”

  
“There was a fire in my building… on my floor, Sousuke, can you believe it? On my floor…! And the firemen were securing the area and evacuating the people because the flames were still super high when we left!”

  
From the other end of the line, Sousuke can clearly hear the distress in his friend’s voice, and the hairs on his nape stand on end. “Shit, have you called your folks? Do you have anywhere to stay?”

  
Kisumi says, “We’re actually on the way to your apartment! I haven’t told my parents yet though, I need to settle down first, and I know that Rin’s out of town so I phoned you… and well, it’s okay right, Sousuke? We can stay in your place for a while, right?”

  
Sousuke agrees without a second thought, and hangs up when Kisumi assures him that he’s really okay. It’s after Sousuke’s taken out the futon from the closet and is reheating some leftover curry that it registers that Kisumi said ‘we’ and not ‘I’. Just in case, he fluffs up his couch and places some blankets on there too.

  
While waiting, Sousuke brings out a change of clothes, as well as some towels. He decides against texting Rin about the situation, because the last thing his best friend needs is a distraction from practice. For now, he needs to make sure Kisumi can get through the night comfortably.

  
There are knocks on the door a few minutes later, and Sousuke opens it briskly, ushering Kisumi inside. Thankfully, he only has one friend with him, equally covered in soot and smelling of smoke. Sousuke ushers him in as well, directing them to the sofa and handing them the towels.

  
“Ahh, Sousuke, you’re a lifesaver!” Kisumi exclaims, crashing on the couch and throwing his backpack on the floor. His hair’s in utter disarray and he’s only clad in a tank top and some jeans. “Is that curry I smell?”

  
“At least take a shower first,” the dark-haired teen replies, “I don’t want my house reeking of smoke.”

  
Kisumi chuckles and nods, then he looks over Sousuke’s shoulder and beckons his friend to join him on the couch. Sousuke does a double take when Kisumi’s friend passes by him, only now taking notice that they have nearly similar height and build. He’s dressed in only a parka and some sweats, and before taking a seat, the stranger removes his jacket and stretches, and Sousuke blinks at how familiar that broad back looks.

  
The teen turns around then and fixes Sousuke with an apologetic smile on his features, bright green eyes twinkling with gratitude underneath a fringe of sandy brown. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Yamazaki-kun,” he says, draping the towel over his broad shoulders, “I’m so sorry for intruding too.”

  
“Ah, it’s an emergency, so it’s okay,” Sousuke blurts out, and vaguely wonders why the need to placate this stranger erupts at the pit of his belly. “Any friend of Kisumi is welcome here.”

  
Kisumi smiles at them both, gets up and claps a hand to Sousuke’s right shoulder. “This is Tachibana Makoto, Sousuke! He lives two doors down the hall from mine, and we play ball from time to time too! He has nowhere to go for the tonight, so I offered here because I knew you’d accommodate us!”

  
Sousuke heaves a sigh as he slaps his friend’s hand away. “Don’t decide things for yourself, you ass.” Then the other shoe drops and he almost reels in realization. He directs his gaze to the green-eyed teen beside him, and the other shies away from his heated stare. “Tachibana Makoto… You’re Makoto? Nanase’s Makoto from the exhibit four days ago?”

  
Makoto scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Ah, you saw that? I told Haru it’d be better to use someone else as a model, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  
“Well, how do you think I feel, Tachibana?” Sousuke says, raising a brow at him and immediately regretting it when the other squeaks and backs away with an apology slipping from his lips.

  
 The dark-haired teen sighs again. “No, sorry, that was uncalled for. Do you want some curry too? You can have some while this idiot,” At this, Sousuke kicks Kisumi in the shin and shoves him in the direction of his bathroom, to which the other laughingly obliges, “takes a nice, relaxing shower. There are some clothes on the rack beside the coffee table you can borrow for now too.”

  
Makoto nods, depositing the towel on the edge of the couch and grabbing a clean shirt before following Sousuke to the dining area. “Yamazaki-kun-”

  
“Sousuke is fine.”

  
“Alright then, Sousuke-kun, thanks for having me at such short notice.”

  
Sousuke gives him a small nod as he places a bowl of food in front of him. “Yeah, don’t mention it.” He takes the seat across Makoto and buries his face in his hands, listening to the other pick at the food cumbersomely with the cutlery.

  
There are so many questions he’d like to ask him right now, but he knows it wouldn’t be appropriate. Tachibana’s just gone through a bad experience, and the least Sousuke could do is to give him space too. In the end, he settles for the usual small talk, asking Tachibana what his major is and where he studies.

  
It turns out that he goes to Rin’s university and is taking up Education, and he mentions that he has had some minor subjects with Rin too. Makoto talks with a gentle voice but with copious amounts of enthusiasm, and he doesn’t pry when Sousuke gives him short, dull answers as compared to his colorful ones.

  
Sousuke actually kind of enjoys his company.

  
When Makoto’s done eating, he takes his plate and starts to wash it himself even though Sousuke insists he shouldn’t have to. Sousuke thinks he can definitely use some friends with this sense of responsibility.

  
“Sousuke-kun, I have a question for you,” Makoto says softly as he scrubs the dish clean with the sponge, taking care not to get suds on anywhere but the surface of the plastic.

  
The air around them shifts, and Sousuke leans against the counter for support. “Shoot.”

  
“Do you dislike Haru’s artwork?”

  
The ‘of you’ is unspoken but is as clear as day, and Sousuke doesn’t even take a beat to shake his head. He makes eye contact with green irises, and hopes that his sincerity comes across. “I like his works, that’s no big deal. He’s talented, I’ll give him that, but I do think he’s putting his skills to unnecessary use. I won’t stop him from doing what he wants though.”

  
“What do you mean unnecessary use?” Makoto stops in his motions and levels him with a serious look in his eye.

  
Sousuke folds his arms over his chest and glances at the plate in the other’s hands. “Nanase can do better than just draw one subject for weeks on end, you know? He tells me he can’t help but want to draw when he sees me, but I just don’t see why.”

  
The green-eyed teen chuckles, and it’s a warm sound that bounces off of the tiles in the kitchen. He turns on the faucet and rinses the soap off the plate. “It’s been a while since Haru’s drawn so much though. He’s been in an art block for a long while, until inspiration hit him recently. I haven’t seen him draw so freely and at ease for ages now.”

  
Sousuke swallows and looks back at him, keeping his poker face in check. “I’m… honored, you know. There’s no other way to put it. I don’t want to downplay what I feel, but I don’t think I deserve this kind of attention.”

  
The plates in the rack clink as Makoto slides in the newly washed one, and he beams at Sousuke. “Okay,” he says, “If you say so.” There’s a lilt to his voice as he speaks, and Sousuke can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

  
Kisumi steps out of the bathroom at that exact moment, and any reply Sousuke’s prepared for Nanase’s friend has died in his throat as his pink-haired pal makes his way to him and demands a bowl of curry. Makoto pads into the bathroom for his shower, and Nanase isn’t brought up again for the remainder of the evening.

  
Kisumi, however, is relentless with his subtle teasing. Sousuke outright ignores the knowing look that Kisumi gives him while he’s eating the curry, when Makoto steps out of the bathroom and talks with Sousuke some more, when they finally get ready for bed.

  
“Sousuke,” Kisumi whispers, eyeing Makoto lying serenely on the futon with his eyes closed and breathing a rhythmic lull, “Do yourself a favor and take a leap of faith.”

  
He gives a cheeky smile to the brunet and turns in for the night, wrapping the blankets around him as he makes himself cozy on the couch. Sousuke sighs from where he’s standing and decides to retire for the time being.

  
He grabs his phone upon entering his room, giving Nanase’s texts a thoughtful stare. Once he’s in bed, he texts the artist an affirmative, and doesn’t understand it when he sleeps soundly as if this Sunday were a usual one.

 

* * *

 

Sousuke wakes up to a pleasant smell wafting in the air. He keeps his eyes shut as he sits up and leans on his headboard, and yep, there’s no mistaking the scent of eggs and toast that’s invading his senses. He groggily blinks open his eyes and grunts when he realizes that the sun hasn’t even risen.

  
The warmth of his bed is something he’s not willing to give up just yet, so he burrows himself further in his sheets and tries to go back to sleep. It’s then that someone starts singing some stupid commercial jingle, and Sousuke knows he’s been deprived of slumber whether he likes it or not. Once Kisumi starts belting out tunes, he won’t stop until someone physically forces him to.

  
Groaning softly, Sousuke slides out of bed and doesn’t let go of his comforter, choosing to drape it over his head and shoulders. He checks the phone on his nightstand and sees that he has two messages from Nanase.

  
‘Okay. When are you free?’

  
‘Thanks for letting Makoto stay there.’

  
Eyes drooping, Sousuke can’t find it in himself to reply, so he leaves his phone in his room before stepping out. He opens his door and is grateful that he has his comforter on, shielding his eyes from the harsh light of the fluorescent overhead.

  
“Kisumi,” he calls out, walking towards the kitchen, not even caring that his sheets are dragging all over the floor, “You better not have burnt something.”

  
Sousuke winces when that god awful singing gets louder with every step, and once he reaches his dining table, something barrels at him from the side and almost sends him toppling to the floor. Sousuke punches blindly and unfortunately only hits air, but at least the singing has stopped.

  
Kisumi then mercilessly yanks the blanket off of Sousuke and greets him a good morning. Beside him, Makoto’s brandishing a plate of eggs and buttered toast with a smile on his face.

  
“Why are you guys up so early? It’s barely five in the morning,” Sousuke bites out, squinting at the plate that’s been pushed in front of him as he sits down.

  
“The landlord contacted us an hour ago and told us we could drop by to salvage some stuff,” Kisumi says, plopping onto the seat next to his friend, “I figured we could do something for you before we left.”

  
Makoto nods as he too takes a seat. “I’m no cook myself but I can at least whip up some basics. Thanks for letting us stay the night, really.”

  
“Yeah, yeah,” Sousuke replies. Hopefully, his guests will forgive him for his grumpiness. Sousuke has never been a morning person, and probably never will. He starts eating in silence, and his two companions nurse a cup of coffee each.

  
Once they’re both done, they bid Sousuke goodbye and collect their things. They’re out of the front door in no time, not even letting Sousuke walk them down the apartment because if he would, he’d probably fall asleep on the stairwell on the way back up. Thank goodness Kisumi understands him so well.

  
The apartment is eerily quiet after they’re gone. Since the sky is still dark, the usual metropolitan noise outside hasn’t started yet, and Sousuke is thankful for that. He washes the dirty dishes and mugs and to his chagrin, catches himself humming the commercial jingle that Kisumi was singing only a few moments ago.

  
Sousuke pinches the bridge of his nose to stop himself, and then takes his comforter and pads back to his bedroom when he’s done with the plates. He snatches his mobile from the stand and flops onto his mattress.

  
‘1PM work for you tmrw?’ He texts Nanase, and not even a minute later, he’s back to snoozing comfortably. Class isn’t for another five hours anyway.

 

* * *

 

He should have seen it coming, really. Nanase is no ordinary person; that much he can tell because of his exceptional talent, but maybe being endowed with such innate skill also comes with a hefty price: common sense and manners to name a few.

  
Because who would ever ask someone to strip for them on the first meeting anyway?

  
“Take it off.”

  
Sousuke can’t help the scowl that adorns his face. “What?” he asks, standing awkwardly at the foyer of Nanase’s apartment.

  
“Your shirt, Yamazaki. I want you to take it off.”

  
Nanase gives him a look, and Sousuke clicks his tongue before he relents with a sigh. He takes off the sky blue polo he’s wearing, and is left with a black formfitting tank top. It’s a shame. Sousuke chose that polo because he knows he looks nice in it, and a portrait in his best clothes would have boosted his confidence.

  
“Should I take my undershirt off too?” he says sarcastically, while attempting to fold his polo shirt properly. Nanase takes it from his hands and guides him into his home, and soon they step into a warm, cozy room. Sousuke’s question remains unanswered, but he doesn’t dare ask the other again.

  
The artist is scarily silent as he directs Sousuke to a stool in the corner of the room. “Sit and be a good boy.”

  
“I’m not a dog, Nanase,” Sousuke admonishes. He goes and sits on the wooden chair anyway, giving Nanase the stink eye as the latter starts getting ready.

  
While Nanase is out of the room presumably to get some supplies, Sousuke gets to take a good look around what he assumes to be the living room. Actually, living room might not even be the proper name to call the space now. An artist’s studio might be more appropriate.

  
The walls are sky blue with dolphin decals at the bottom, and are lined with framed artworks of different kinds of bodies of water. One wall in particular has an incredible amount of unfinished sketches and drafts tacked on it, almost enough to cover the wallpaper. Most of them are sceneries and strategically posed body parts, same as the sketches that were on the exhibit a few days ago.

  
Sousuke can’t help but stand up from his seat and approach the wall, checking out the drawings with newfound interest. The top row of sketches is entirely composed of different perspectives of waterfalls, and Sousuke is at awe at how much detail is given to each piece. Below it are drawings of the city skylines, followed by a collection of drawings on beaches and marine life.

  
When he’s done browsing the sketches, he walks around the room and takes in the state of the dark carpeted floor. There are sheets of paper strewn on the floor, a few rolls of dirty canvases and newspapers in the corner, a few containers of acrylic and oil on the alcove by the window. There are three easels propped up next to a shelf that surprisingly contains magazines not on art, but on hot springs, hidden lakes and rivers, and books about swimming.

  
Sousuke snorts at one art book named ‘One Hundred Waterfalls of the World You Need to See Before You Die’, extending his hand to take the book out to see what the fuss is all about.

  
“Careful with that, Yamazaki,” Nanase voices out from the doorway, “It’s a limited edition.”

  
“You get off on this stuff?” Sousuke asks, carefully flipping page after page on the book. Honestly, he doesn’t get all the water hype at all. He supposes they all look breathtakingly exquisite in person though.

  
Nanase’s azure eyes start to sparkle as he strides into the room and stands beside the taller teen. He stands on his tiptoes and smiles at the images on the book. “They own my heart,” he says, and before Sousuke can come up with something else, he grabs the book, gives a pat on the cover and places it back on the shelf.

  
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Nanase adds, urging Sousuke to go back to his seat. He takes one of the empty easels and positions it a few feet directly in front of the stool, and then takes out his stuff from a paper bag in his hands.

  
It’s then that Sousuke realizes that he has absolutely no idea what to do. Should he pose? Should he just sit there? It must have shown on his face because Nanase walks over again and gives him a deliberate look.

  
“You never told me the theme of this portrait project thing,” Sousuke says.

  
“You don’t need to know,” is the immediate reply.

  
Sousuke heaves a sigh. “You could at least tell me what to do, you know? I don’t want to sit here looking like an idiot.”

  
Nanase tilts his head to the side as if contemplating an idea. Then he says, “How about a smile, Yamazaki? I’ve never seen you do that before.”

  
Sousuke definitely did not see that coming. Automatically, he scowls back. “It’s easier said than done.” He turns his head away, and curses himself when he feels the telltale rush of blood to his face.

  
He swears he sees Nanase’s lips twitch a bit at the corners.

  
“Flustered is a good look on you,” the artist declares, his fingers coming up and resting on the pink of Sousuke’s cheek. The touch absolutely burns. He gently directs the taller teen’s gaze back to him with a soft push. “Okay, how about giving me your best authoritative face. I know you can do that without difficulty.”

  
Sousuke’s tempted to roll his eyes, but instead he just nods and fixes his posture, his back ramrod straight and head held up high. He schools his face into an intimidating expression, puffing up his chest for an added effect. He wills the blush to go away, but it can’t because Nanase’s still there, barely inches from him.

  
The scrutiny makes it hard to breathe, but thankfully, Nanase gives his approval and walks back to his easel. He starts sketching immediately, taking occasional glances at Sousuke, sometimes leaving his seat to take a closer look.

  
About ten minutes into the session, Nanase steps into his personal space again and tells him to take off his undershirt.

  
Sousuke purses his lips in blatant discomfort, but takes it off anyway and resumes his pose. He feels extremely exposed, and even though he knows he’s easy on the eyes, it’s still uncomfortable because it’s _Nanase_.

  
The guy probably doesn’t even know how enticing he looks while fixated, how it’s so very difficult for Sousuke not to stare at him because his focused expression is the most interesting thing in the room. There’s a pencil tucked behind his ear, and another one between his lips, and Sousuke doesn’t understand why because he’s got two in his right hand as well. There are black smudges on the tip of his nose and chin that make Sousuke want to die at the sheer ridiculous cuteness of it all.

  
All in all, Nanase is beautiful. Nanase is Sousuke’s type. Even after meeting and talking to him, the artist’s haughty, blunt words appeal more than annoy. Even now as Nanase tells him that he’s too buff for his own good, Sousuke’s body betrays him. Instead of landing a well-deserved punch on the other’s face like he would do if Rin or Kisumi would say that, Sousuke cocks an eyebrow and just stares at him, fighting off the smile that’s threatening to erupt on his lips. Luckily, Sousuke’s an expert at that area, and instead just says, “Buff or not, you like looking at me anyway, don’t you, Nanase?”

  
The artist’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second, before he hastily turns around and goes back to his station. He doesn’t speak for a long while, and the silence becomes too thick for Sousuke’s liking. It seems that Nanase can get a bit worked up too, if the right buttons are pressed. Sousuke is elated at this realization.

  
“Nanase,” the taller teen blurts out, “Your pretty face is dirty.”

  
The artist stops to look at him with a frown set on his mouth. “Of course it is,” he replies, then he continues scribbling on the canvas, “Now stay still and shut it.”

  
Sousuke huffs out a breath and complies. However, he notices the pink tinge blooming on the high of Nanase’s cheek and counts it a victory for himself. Feeling rather satisfied, he doesn’t move until Nanase tells him today’s session is over. By the time that happens, the former is shocked to find out that nearly four hours have passed since he started posing. He stares disbelievingly at the wall clock as Nanase starts packing up his stuff. Then the artist leaves the easel behind and just drapes a white cloth over it.

  
“So when do I get to see it?” Sousuke asks. It’s the only question that’s been running on his mind for the entire duration. Well, the only one that has nothing to do with Nanase’s illegal existence anyway.

  
“When it’s done,” the shorter teen responds.

  
Concluding that he can’t get anything out of Nanase more than that, Sousuke stands up and stretches, getting the kinks out of his stiff joints. He grins inwardly when he sees Nanase pointedly stare when he bends over and then arches his back. “See something you like?” he teases, raising an eyebrow at the artist.

  
“Yeah,” Nanase deadpans, “Nice ass, Yamazaki.”

  
That’s exactly the response Sousuke wasn’t counting on, and yet it was so very like the artist to say something like that. He flips him the bird, rubbing the back of his neck in an attempt to dispel the butterflies in his stomach. “Are you always like this?” he says, “How can you say something like that with such a straight face?”

  
Nanase shrugs his shoulders. “It’s because it’s the truth.”

  
Sousuke doesn’t know what to say then, his throat closing up. He doesn’t know if he’s frustrated or disconcerted. All he knows is that Nanase is someone he’ll probably never know how to deal with.

  
And yet he likes him.

  
Impeccable aesthetics aside, his frank, honest, albeit weird, personality really is strangely endearing. Sousuke can’t even explain the attraction, but it’s there. The clarity sort of terrifies him. He knows for sure it’s reciprocated, because why else would Nanase consider him his muse?

  
Unable to restrain himself any longer, Sousuke heeds Kisumi’s advice from two nights ago and takes a leap of faith. “We should have dinner together,” he starts, and then his brain short-circuits because _shit,_ he’s never really thought about what exactly to say.

  
“I mean-” he tries to recover, “You should at least treat me as compensation. I did just spend four hours here to help you with your project.”

  
There’s a pregnant pause, but then Nanase holds up his hands in rejection. “Sorry, I already made plans tonight. Makoto needs me.”

  
“Huh, right.” _Fuck, don’t make a big deal out of it._ Sousuke instantaneously feels deflated at the answer, and he keeps his mouth shut before he says something he might regret. His temper works that way, taking control of his voice before letting his mind process the words. He clears his throat and nods, inwardly berating himself for acting impulsively.

  
“Yamazaki-”

  
“It’s fine, Nanase.”

  
“Of course it’s not. Don’t think I’ll let you leave my house empty-handed.”

  
The artist walks closer to him, and Sousuke thinks it’s funny, the way the other steps all over the sketches and drafts on the floor with no care. When Nanase’s close enough, he realizes just how different their sizes are. Nanase has to tilt his head a number of degrees upward just to look Sousuke in the eye, and the advantage in height is oddly soothing to the larger teen’s ego.

  
“Lean down a bit,” Nanase orders, and Sousuke does.

He startles at the artist’s fingers coming up to rest on his nape and play with his undercut, and suddenly those fingers are pushing down and Nanase is surging forward and – _Oh._

  
It takes a while before Sousuke realizes that Nanase is kissing him, _Nanase is kissing him what the fuck,_ and by the time he gets the idea to open his mouth and respond, Nanase’s already pulling away. Adrenaline dominating his body, Sousuke grits his teeth and refuses to let this opportunity go, so he cups the artist’s face in his hands and steadies him, adamant on not letting go and slip away from him again.

  
“One kiss isn’t going to cut it,” he whispers, breath mingling with the other. Sousuke delights at the sight of Nanase’s tongue dipping out to swipe at his lips, and then they’re meeting each other at the middle this time, and it’s no graceful contact but he barrels on contentedly anyway.

  
Sousuke doesn’t hold back and completely overwhelms the other, and it feels good to have the shorter teen become pliant in his arms. He doesn’t dwell too much on the taste, although he knows he’s never going to get enough now because he’s had some of it, but instead focuses on the feel of the warm wetness of the artist’s mouth, the closeness of their bodies, just the feel of Nanase in general.

  
The artist isn’t completely relaxed either, raking his fingers through Sousuke’s hair and pulling him even closer, as if wanting not even a millimeter of space between them. Sousuke appreciates the effort and kisses back with even more vigor, until he’s sure they’ll be tasting each other for days. Nanase is igniting something inside him, and a pleasant heat starts spreading down his body, setting his nerves aflame. He doesn’t want this to end at all.

  
Too soon, Nanase breaks contact with a wet noise, his breathing labored and his face flushed beautifully. “I… can’t breathe,” he exhales softly, and then buries his face in Sousuke’s chest while trying to catch his breath. “You’re an animal, Yamazaki.”

  
Sousuke can’t help the low chuckle that rumbles in the back of his throat. “You were enjoying it as much as I did.” He takes a deep breath and expels it on the top of Nanase’s head, and the artist just sort of melts against him.

  
“Yeah,” the artist admits almost inaudibly, “I did.”

  
It’s as if a switch turns on in Sousuke’s mind at the breathy utterance of those words, and he chokes as the gravity of the situation dawns on him like a bucket of ice cold water.

  
Not wanting to deal with the probably uncomfortable aftermath because he doesn’t know what to do next, Sousuke pulls off and kisses Nanase one last time on the forehead, bidding him goodbye with a gratified look on his face because the other still looks so out of it. He would have liked to take a picture and immortalize that expression on Nanase’s face, simply because it’s the most ruffled he’s ever seen him.  But alas, his brain is in overdrive, panic rushing through his nerves because he didn’t plan for this to happen, really.

  
Sousuke doesn’t make a habit out of making out with disgustingly attractive artists who he doesn’t know anything about except for the fact that they’ve taken an affinity to his face. He dashes from the living room with a desperate need for space and distance from the artist, and doesn’t wait for Nanase to walk him to the door.

  
Once he’s in the elevator going down, he buries his face in his hands and mutters a mantra of _fucks_ and _shits_ to himself. He can’t believe that just happened. He pinches himself to see if this was all a dream, but the pain registers in his brain and _fuck_ , it really did happen.

  
Suddenly, his phone vibrates and brings him out of reverie, and Sousuke nearly blanches at the text he receives.

  
‘I’ll see you on Thursday at the same time. I’ll treat you to something proper then.

  
He doesn’t know how he’ll survive until then, not when he’s barely gotten off scot-free from today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I really don't know where I'm going with this so I thought it'd be okay to end it soon... Hopefully, I can upload the last part in a few days or so. As always, I will appreciate feedback and pointing out of errors! Thank you!


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